


The Blood of the Damned

by crow_017



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crow_017/pseuds/crow_017
Summary: Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg are searching for Ciri, who has been missing for months.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

I

Vezina’s marketplace was busy around the afternoon, full of all kinds of people from different backgrounds, some were Nilfgaardian soldiers that strolled in packs through the market on horseback, pushing whoever was in the way down, growling in their language. Few were opium dealers that provided magic for anyone who was desperate enough. Some were whores, both men and women strutted through the alleyways and shooing off various whoremongers who just didn’t have enough gold in hand. A man stood in front of the statue with a worn sack for clothing, his face full of dirt and grime. It looks like he hasn’t cleaned himself in months… Gods forbid what was under that worn sack he used to cover himself. He paced around the statue in the center of the marketplace and started rambling, although barely anyone would really listen besides one or two people. 

“All you heathens talk about is ‘today’… Your foolish desires will all be in vain when the Gods will be tired of your recklessness. You monsters that aren’t  _ human,  _ I’m looking at all of you.” He looked over at the cloaked figures that congregate with each other, one volting back in surprise. “You… Elves. Subhuman whoresons that should lick the dirt off my feet and serve the rightful inheritors of the Earth.” He kept on with his speech as his voice grew louder and louder, and more stayed to listen. 

“And those demon-spawned Witchers are worse, they hide in the shadows like cowards and break into your homes… Taking your possessions, raping your wives, and taking your children as their own and sneaking out like thieves in the night,” he continued on. “A lot of them are eradicated… But few still linger. Their attitudes still revolve around the sin of greed, since they’ll do nothing unless it’s for coin.”

“You godsdamned fool,” one rung out in the crowd. “A buncha’ the Elven folk ‘ave got the boot from us humans and Nilfgaardians  _ years  _ ago. You’re only preaching history and things we already know.” He rolled his eyes, emerging from the crowd. 

“Who might you be, disrespectful young’un? For your information, I’ve been around while you were suckling from your bitch-mother’s teats,” the vagabond spat. 

“Just someone who’s been around a few towns, villages, and kingdoms and heard speeches exactly like yours from people that are the spitting image of you. Although I’ve picked up worse stenches in Drahim,” the younger man snorted, looking around at the crowd for some sort of approval for his quips.

“I’ve seen things,” the vagabond shouted, attracting more people around them. “I have seen a poor merchant woman beaten and raped by three Elven folk, and from what I’ve seen… They don’t even belong to be on the same plane as humans.  _ They still exist, _ ” he growled. “I have seen a Witcher strut in the Vegelbud Residence, went by the name of Aelwen of Oxenfurt, and he was paid handsomely by many to slay the Daemon that lay dormant in the caves near Bald Mountain. I was one of them who paid him… And we never saw him again.” 

“What of the beast?” One in the gathering asked. 

“He got brave thanks to various Nilfgaardian Soldiers waging war with a rebel army near the cave that disturbed his slumber, destroying a good part of Midcopse. Fires could’ve been seen from Crookback Bog…” He sighed. “You could smell the fire and ash for miles for about three weeks.” 

“I’ve been through many fires and ash-filled wreckages… Yet you reek worse than the tragedy of Crookback Bog.” One man walks his horse as he takes his cloak off and lays it on his horse. His long, unkempt silver hair rested on his shoulders and his yellow eyes gleamed. “I should know, since I’ve been in the aftermath.” 

“A-A Witcher!?” The old vagabond shouted. “You’re not…”

“Aelwen? No, afraid not. Last time I’ve seen him was in those caves you talked about… I only recognized him only because of the pendant, along with the other skulls and bones that were with him.” He said, hitching his horse. 

“And who might you be, good sir?” The young man asked. 

“Geralt,” he answered. “Of Rivia. I heard the ranting and ravings of a madman and thought it was a jester coming to entertain the children, so I thought I’d stop by and watch. Unfortunately, I was wrong.” The young man, and even Roach in a way, snorted at Geralt’s snide remark.

“You mock me… Yet your  _ kind  _ is the reason why I’m in these rags. Why those women and children are  _ dead _ !” 

“Did Aelwen fly above the city and blow fire on the citizens? Did Aelwen use his… “Talons” and grab people’s limbs off? Swallow people whole?” Geralt asked rhetorically. 

“N-No… But-” 

“If anything, it was partly the war’s fault. The Nilfgaardians waged war with the rebels and disturbing the dragon’s slumber that did this.” The young man said. 

“Hm,” The Witcher nodded. “Now… I’m here for something, well…  _ Someone. _ This’ll be a bit easier now that I have an audience.” He looked around and asked, “have you seen a minstrel around? He carries some sort of… Mandolin with him—”

“It’s called a lute, you uncultured buffoon.” A tall man with black hair and goatee emerges from the gathering. 

“I don’t take shit from a person that calls a rapier a ‘long, pointy sword,’” Geralt growled. “Dandelion. It’s been a while,” he nodded. 

“What’re you all the way here for?” Dandelion tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost Yennefer again. At this point, you two are children playing hide and seek.” 

“Amusing.” He smirked. “Anyway, I’ve come for your assistance.” 

“What do you need?” 

“I need you to take me as your second to the feast tonight,” Geralt answered. 

“Geralt… I’m honoured, but I think you know I don’t-”

“It’s not like that.” He interrupted Dandelion. “His majesty will be there tonight, yes?” He asked rhetorically as he walked with Dandelion into the alleyway. 

“Yes,” Dandelion answered. “It’s a five night long feast, but King Elis won’t show up until the final day to make an announcement… Although the king’s daughter has been there for three days, standing ‘round and looking pretty.”

“Hm,” the White Wolf nodded. “Well… What of this ‘announcement’ you speak of? It must be important, considering how he has had a five nights long feasts about it.” Geralt follows Dandelion as he heads toward a tavern. 

“Nobody knows… Yet. Although we’ll know by tonight, of course.” Dandelion opens the door and sits down at the nearest table. “So, another question. Why do you need  _ me  _ of all people?”

“For one… You’re the noisiest and you can draw the most attention. Second… They don’t really like Witchers being around in events, much less Witchers being around.” The tavern was a breeding ground of off-duty Nilfgaardian soldiers getting a buzz off their grog, while the tavern whores were standing around and leaning against the wall and observing the pen full of drunken animals, and not the small pen of pigs that were outside. 

“Well… That’s fair, considering how you aren’t that popular with the people of Vezina. Heh, if it makes you feel any better, nobody likes anything around here if it doesn’t sweep ‘em off their feet and blacks ‘em out.” Dandelion chuckled to himself. 

“Hm. Maybe you’re right,” Geralt snorted. 

“Of course I’m right!” The minstrel replied with confidence in his voice. “Now… With what happened a moment ago, people should know by now that there’s a Witcher here, so you’ll need to keep on your toes. Many are quick to their swords around here,” Dandelion whispered. “Believe me. One was after me yesterday… I had to climb to the rooftops and lose him there!” 

“Let me guess,” Geralt interrupted. “Another man’s wife you bedded? Shameful,” he chuckled. 

“It was love at first sight! Until she acted like she didn’t know me the day after that…” He sighed, looking over at the Nilfgaardian soldiers downing the remains of their drink. “Anyhow, you’ll need to change attire and make yourself blend in. That old man’s stench smells like lavender and roses compared to you.” 

“Hm,” The White Wolf nodded. “Of course. If I go in armour, then that’ll raise a few eyebrows…” He mumbled. “As much as I’d hate to admit it.” The tavern started to quiet down and stare at the Witcher— more looks of disgust than anything else, though. A few started mumbling and all you could hear for a bit was patrons mumbling “witcher” under their breath. The Nilfgaardian soldiers cut an eye at Geralt, but said nothing. One in particular got up from his seat. His skin was pale and his hair was blonde, and his height could be comparable to the White Wolf. He taps on the Witcher’s shoulder and gives him a menacing glare. 

“Witcher,” the Nilfgaardian soldier growled with warning. “This place doesn’t take kindly to people like you. 

“Hm.” The White Wolf scoffed. “I think it’s fairly obvious,” he said. 

“Then you’re smarter than you look,” the large man replied. 

“I don’t want any trouble,” Geralt sighed. “I just wanted to rest, drink, and catch up with a friend here.” 

“Do it elsewhere.” The larger, threatening figure interrupted. 

“How about… We have a drink? And we’ll just leave water under the bridge?” The Witcher proposed. “It’s on me.” 

“We don’t know each other,” the guard said, confused. 

“Hm. Let’s change that. I’m Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He nodded. “And how are you called?” He asked. 

“Erik,” he answered. 

“Well… Drinks are on me, Erik. Barkeep?” He called out to the woman behind the counter. “Drinks for me and these two gentlemen with me here,” Geralt said as she prepared three glasses of alcohol. She serves them on a small, round tray and observes the three of them warily and closely. Geralt grabbed his and raised his glass, and Dandelion followed suit. 

“To meeting new people,” he said, knocking back his head and downing his drink. The guard tilted his head, in a further disarray than he was before. He hesitantly raised his glass and shot it down. 

“Alright. Don’t cause any trouble here, or you’ll get the sword from me.” He mumbled before walking away and going back to his seat. Dandelion’s eyes were wider than when he looks at his next woman he attempts to bed. 

“Never knew you were capable of  _ that, _ ” Dandelion stuttered. 

“I do it… Sometimes. They caught me in a generous mood,” Geralt rolled his eyes. The woman walked over to Geralt as the Nilfgaardian soldiers left, and tapped on his shoulder. 

“Thank you for not stirring trouble with them. When they get their share of ale in ‘em, they get rowdy. Even led to a few bar fights which led to some even losing a limb or two,” she said. Her hair was auburn and her eyes were sky blue, her face had freckles all over her face, and her figure was fuller than the others around. Her apron was stained with water and ale, and her dress underneath the apron was worn. 

“Hm,” The White Wolf nodded. “Looks like Nilfgaardian soldiers wreck things more often than not.”

“Those cocksuckers do,” she sighed. “What happens when a few bandits beat a woman senseless, rape her, take her coin, and leave her for dead? Nilfgaardian soldiers don’t do a godsdamned thing about it. That’s what happened yesterday in the back alleys near the tavern ‘ere.” She slammed her fist on the table in a fit of anger. 

“Then, what’re they here for? It’s not like the King just wastefully sends them around for no reason.” Geralt asked. 

“It’s for the protests and the riots that have been happening. There have been a herd a’ werewolves coming ‘round, scaring off merchants, distributors of supplies, and the like. The King is fat while the rest of us are starving.” She said. “Many were slain or imprisoned then hanged for treason because his Majesty doesn’t take criticism too kindly.” 

“Hm, as I can see. Things really have changed since I’ve come here five years ago,” The Rivian mumbled.

“When there’s a small protest going on, they come and kill those who haven't dispersed already and ask questions later. When there’s bandits robbing and ending innocent lives, they act like the blind!” The barkeep exclaimed. 

“Any success with the Werewolves?” Geralt asked. 

“Ha, no,” she scoffed. “Why would he when he can just silence the protesters, the ones that need ‘im the most?” She starts to take the empty glasses and puts them back on the tray, looking around at the guests that have gone back to conversation when the Nilfgaardian soldiers left. “I suppose you heard of the large five-night feast? Although, I think it’s to get the people off his back. ‘Tisn’t working, so far.” She walks back to the counter with the Rivian and minstrel following behind her. 

“What’re the celebrations for?” Geralt asked. 

“There was a large speech going to happen on the last day,” she replied. “Optimistically thinking, it’s going to be something about those Werewolves— but here’s hoping…” 

“I think he’ll talk about his second-in-line,” Dandelion interrupted after a long time of silence. “She went missing a few months ago and nobody’s really seen her around,” he leans up on the table and observes the customers come in and out. 

“Probably,” she shrugged. 

“Alright, well, we’ll be going. We have a party to get ready to go to,” Geralt nodded.

“Farewell, and be careful. Not a lot of people are fond of Witchers o’er here… Especially his majesty.” The barkeep said. The Rivian and Dandelion leave the tavern, going where Roach was. The streets were filled with Nilfgaardian soldiers of both shapes and sizes, but they’re all deadly and not meant to be trifled with. 

“His majesty is getting worse off,” one whispered in worry with another.

“Losing a child does that to you.” He replied. 

“Not just  _ that,  _ but something else… He’s been quick to send someone to the gallows just because they’ve said something to anger ‘im, like they just pissed in his grog.” 

“Hm,” Geralt tilted his head before unhitching Roach and leading his horse. 

“What’re you going to do now?” The Minstrel asked. 

“Well… I’m going to go to the nearest inn and try to find something besides armor to wear,” he answered. “As much as I despise it…”

“I shall do the same,” Dandelion nodded. “Do you have a place in mind, if you mind me asking?”

“Yes. It’s on the outskirts of town, though.”

“I’ll follow you then,” Dandelion said. “I’ll play us a little tune to pass the time!” 

“Dandelion, no.” Geralt sighed. 

“Dandelion, yes!” He exclaimed as he tuned his lute and strummed. “Ohhhhh, when a humble bard graced a ride along…” He smirked, looking at the miffed Witcher. “...With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…”

  
  


II

The Witcher lays back in a large tub, filled with water, oils scented with lavender as the warm water and its contrast with the cold, bitter winter that was outside made the Rivian’s skin grow goosebumps. His head leans back as he sighs his troubles away, almost closing his eyes. The door opens as two women and one familiar face comes in, waking him up from his daze. One opened the drawer and grabbed the cleanest and driest rag they could find and dipped it in the water while the other looked over at her and instructed her what to do in a foreign language before closing the door

“Who might you be?” Geralt asked. No answer. “Ma’am?” He asked once more, but with no answer once more. Her hair was almost like The White Wolf’s, a very light blonde where it was almost a snowy white.

“Sir,” the woman sighed. “She cannot speak. At least properly, now. Her tongue was cut off because she was in one of those protests and even fought back when the guards had her in their custody… Her friends received the worst of it though.” 

“Shit…” Geralt mumbled. 

“That son of a bitch needs to clean up his act, many lives are being taken because he cannot keep his temper to himself and his incapability to do anything.” She mumbled. “This stays between you and me, Witcher.” 

“Hm,” The Rivian nodded. 

“Good,” she said. “She can hear you, but she will not reply to anything with words. She can nod or point towards objects, but she will not speak.” 

“What about if anybody tries to…”

“She has a dagger on her belt. If anybody tries anything or gets too rough, then that blade will… Politely tell them to leave,” she chuckled. “Worked so far.” 

“Hm,” the Witcher nodded once more. 

“If you need me, just yell for me.” She said, walking to the door. It’s opened by Dandelion as he rushes in, wearing a royal purple Versailles coat with black tight pants with three rings on his left hand. 

“Geralt! Great timing,” he said. “So, erm… You know the party, right?” 

“What do you want? And why’re you here?” He asked. 

“Well… Remember when I told you of when I had to escape on the rooftops?” He chuckled awkwardly. “Well, her husband is a well-known duke, and he’s going to be at the feast.”

“I’m getting a strange deja vu…” Said the Rivian. “Didn’t I do this before?” 

“Oh, shut your mouth.” Dandelion said. “You wouldn’t know true love even if it pounced on top of you and beat you within an inch of your life. They both loved me, but they were bound in a loveless marriage!” 

“If you say so,” Geralt snorted. 

“Whatever,” the minstrel sat on a chair and started riffing on his lute. Dandelion knew that playing his lute annoyed Geralt at times, and he knew that it did— and he did it intentionally. “I grabbed some of your coin from your bag and went to the nearest place to get a suit for the occasion for you, Witcher. It might be a bit tight, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Hm. You have my thanks.” 

“Just act tough whenever  _ he  _ shows up, and we’ll call it even…” He put down his lute and tilted his head at The White Wolf. “So… Why’re you trying to seek counsel with His Majesty?” 

“Yennefer and I are looking for Ciri,” The White Wolf answered. “She went missing a month ago after being hired as a mercenary in the Royal Redanian Army and we’ve never heard from her since.”

“And the best answer is to look in Vezina, a place where they put a bounty on Witchers, witches, and anyone that slightly looks different while the king overlooks it and even rewards bringing the head of any witch that lives in his domain?” Dandelion rolled his eyes. “Not the most logical conclusion.” 

“All the more reason to look,” Geralt shrugged. “His Majesty controls most of the bounties that occur here, and with some… Convincing… He’ll tell me if he’s seen anyone that fits Ciri’s description.”

“Most likely not for free if he doesn’t order you to be hanged the next morning,” Dandelion interrupted. 

“I’m counting on it,” The Witcher affirmed sarcastically.

“Well… I’m not going to bother you,” Dandelion got up and opened the door. “Hurry up, the feast starts in about two hours.” He closes the door behind him as Geralt slumps his head back once more, sighing in frustration. 


	2. Chapter 2

I

It was already sundown and half of the city was there to celebrate and eat whatever was in front of them. A bitter cold took over the party, but almost everyone there was already too drunk and warmed with ale to feel it. The King was rumoured to show up and make the announcement soon, but nobody knew when. Geralt appeared in the crowd with a new look, something he rarely does, and never really liked to do. He wandered in the party and vacated to the nearest wall, watching the people drink the night away. Dandelion looked around frantically for the man that chased him up the roof, and got closer to the White Wolf. “So, we’re… Pals, right? Friend?” He chuckles awkwardly as he pats Geralt on the back. 

“So… What does this Duke look like again?” He asked. 

“Short, stubby, and a bit _husky,_ ” he answered. “Although he was fast for a man that size and shape…” Dandelion mumbled, taking a seat at the nearest table with Geralt. “Don’t underestimate that devilspawn!” He whispered.

“Hm. I can honestly see a Duke chase you up a roof like a dog chasing a cat up a tree,” The Rivian snorted. 

“Oh, shut your mouth. You needn’t tell a soul,” the minstrel growled. “It’s bad publicity for a talented bard artist such as myself!” Dandelion looked around and found the Duke conversing amongst his peers, along with a few nobles and even a few Knights were with him. “Shit,” he gasped. “There he is!” He fit the description as Dandelion said, but it was hard to really trust Dandelion’s word because of his tendencies to heavily exaggerate. He did after all, call one of the weaker werewolves an Ulfhedinn. The duke’s hair looked like it fell from his hair to his upper lip, chin and neck. His beard was longer compared to the others around. His fair skin contained warts and wrinkles, he could be compared to a toad if he so wished. 

“As long as he doesn’t catch you, it should be fine. Just act natural and don’t be afraid.” Geralt sighed.

“Just act big and tough, and he can be scared off. Yes, I can see it now!” The minstrel chuckled.

“...And you’re not even listening to me,” The Witcher mumbled. He looked around for the nearest person with a tray full of drinks and he snapped his fingers at one of them to get their attention. “I’ll need a drink for tonight…” He groaned. “Look, just don’t go off and flirt with the nearest pair of legs you see and don’t draw too much attention to yourself and you won’t be—” Before Geralt could even finish, Dandelion already disappeared into the crowd. “...Fuck.” He gulped down his ale and sat around, waiting for his majesty’s speech. Dandelion was out and about, looking for his next victim to charm. His thoughts of the Duke chasing him down already dissipated in the air as he found one woman alone, which was usually his prey. He pulled out his lute and started to play, smirking at the woman in the long, yellow dress and curly black hair. 

“Oh, my lady sitting there all alone… I’d love to provide you some company,” he grinned as he stepped closer. The woman snorted and rolled her eyes as another woman came over her way and gave Dandelion the evil eye.

“I’m taken, bard.” She said with a flat tone. “Try someone else.” 

“Fine, fine. I’m going…” He sighed dejectedly, going the way where he came from. “They don’t know what they’re missing…” Geralt spotted Dandelion and groaned in frustration. 

“That idiot never learns. Maybe the fool has short term memory,” he sighed. 

The Duke started looking around drinking with his friends until he jumped in surprise, then started jogging in anger towards the bard. “Shit,” Geralt jumped up and walked towards him to stop him, but it was too late. 

“I remember you!” The short man that came up to Dandelion’s chin roared. “You’re the man that bedded my wife!” He shoved the bard against the wall and furiously grabbed his collar, getting him closer to his height. The feast quiets down as they stare at this spectacle, a “shitshow” is what Geralt would call it. “I’ll strangle you with my own two hands and choke you out until your eyes pop out of your fucking skull…!” He continued. 

“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He replied in a panic, looking around for Geralt. “Oh!” He looked towards the Rivian’s direction and called for him. “G-Geralt! Buddy, old pal! Chum! Tell this man I was with you in… Uh…” 

“We were at the Crow’s Perch,” said the Rivian. “We were at the inn there meeting a friend of ours.”

“Y-Yes, that’s right!” Dandelion laughed with a smug attitude. “There’s no way I would be with your wife at the time if I’m… All the way in Crow’s Perch!” 

“Why do I not believe you? You look _oh so familiar,_ ” the gentleman said. Geralt sighed as he pulled off a spell and told him the story once more. “We were at Crow’s Perch. We were meeting up an old acquaintance of ours,” he repeated once more. “There’s no way Dandelion would’ve done this.” 

“...You two were at Crow’s Perch meeting up with an old friend,” the Duke slurred. “There’s no way you would do this.” He let go of Dandelion’s collar and his head started to hurt. “Oh, fuck… I need to lay down.”

“You’ve just had too much ale. Lay down and come back, if you’d like,” the Duke’s companion said, tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll be back soon.” He said, leaving to go inside the building as the party resumes. 

“You have my thanks, Geralt.” The minstrel sighed in relief, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. “That… Was close.” 

“Nice acting,” The Witcher scoffed. “You’re lucky that it didn’t get me noticed,” he told off the bard. 

“Oh, those fools won’t look in the cloak as long as you blend in, you’ll be _fine,_ I promise! Plus, they’re too shitfaced to even see inside the cloak,” he laughed. 

“Hm,” The White Wolf nodded. Fanfare plays loudly as the city shakes with the trumpets and the number of guards that line up perfectly, giving his majesty who was up on the third floor of the large building of his castle, looking down pridefully on his not-so-loyal subjects. 

“Silence, everyone. For His Majesty has an announcement to make!” The tall, large, familiar face decked in head to toe with Nilfgaardian armour ordered. 

“Erik…” The Witcher mumbled. 

“Today, I will set a bounty to the _bravest_ among you. I shall give my first-oldest daughter to the bravest man who slays the werewolves… Those dastardly hellhounds that chase off my merchants, and my- _our_ food off! This is a sacrifice… _I_ am willing to make.” He said as the men cheered, clinging onto and falling for every single word. “Who among you will be Vezina’s _champion!?_ ” 

“These people are cattle…” The Witcher mumbled as the king continued his speech. 

“Now, without any further ado… Let’s continue the feast, the food and drinks are on _me!_ ” He gave a crooked smile as the audience cheered on loudly once again, and he left without one more word. 

“Hm,” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, Dandelion. We’re going to make a special, unannounced visit to His Majesty.”

“Alright, let’s make it hasty…” He said, following the Rivian to the castle walls. “W-Wait… What’re we doing here?” The minstrel asked. 

“You gave me an idea when you talked about your small affair. We’ll be climbing our way up to miss the guards. We needn’t violence,” Geralt answered. 

“U-Uh… I’m afraid of heights?” 

“...Shut up and do it. And don’t look down,” The Witcher said.

“Fine, fine…” Dandelion complied hesitantly. 

“If it helps you, imagine the Duke chasing you again.” He chuckled.

“Quiet, you bastard.” Dandelion hissed. “You better be glad I’m even doing this…”

  
  


II

It was already deep into the night and the feast was wild and full of candlelights that made the night seem like the crack of dawn, but the inside of the guest room was brighter. The dukes congregated together in their own little social circles, all of them with various goals in mind and playing favourites. The common folk drinking and causing a commotion and swimming in the free ale offered by his majesty, some were already drowned and out for the night and the party isn’t even half over with. A lot of smiles and wide grins come from the patrons but his majesty, who frowns as he watches his subjects act like animals from the safety of his castle. His rug cost more coin than all of the huts, tents, small homes, and farms combined. His bed was large enough to take up enough room for four people, and that’s what he usually did behind closed doors. He shaked the bed and woke up his prostitutes, giving them a threatening face that spoke volumes. They all run out the door as soon as they gather their clothes and leave, but then a servant smaller than him and frailer than him came in and said nothing. His grey beard was unkempt and his stomach was bigger than some of the livestock he owned. He wears nothing but his open robe with nothing underneath, open for the unfortunate servants to see. 

“You’ve seen nothing, or else you won’t by tomorrow morning.” His majesty threatened as he grabbed the nearest matching clothes and tossed them onto his servant, making the young boy ready him for the speech. 

“I gain nothing from telling anyone this,” the young servant said. Even if the King tried to hide his infidelity, his wife knew. It was quite obvious with everyone who is employed in the office. 

“Wise servant.” He closes the door and sighs, slapping his face to wake himself. 

“Had too much ale and opium for your liking, your majesty?” He asked. 

“Silence,” he interrupted. The door opens once more as the Queen emerges with a silk dress the colour of crimson red and her hair down with a shining crown on top of her head, ready to stun the crowd. 

“Why aren’t you ready, you buffoon?” She asked. 

“I wasn’t feeling well,” he answered with a white lie. “So I needed to lie down for a moment.” 

“‘Lie down,’ alright. ‘Lie down’ with three whores, you mean?” She asked, slamming the door. 

“...This isn’t what it looks like, darling—”

“Then what does three prostitutes running down the hall as naked as the day they were born look like to you, you whoremonger?” She asked him rhetorically. 

“I needn’t time for your insolence, wench,” his majesty barked. 

“And I needn’t time for yours,” she replied with defiance. “I’ve let this go on from time to time again, and I’ve seen a few young boys leaving your room with more than just a few coins in their pocket and with a limp.”

“You shut your mouth!” He demanded as the young servant tried to slip away silently.

The door opens once more as two figures step in. His long, white hair is let down besides his usual ponytail he had it up in. He wears a thick, black cloak and navy blue coat with beige pants with black boots. Before he got there, he complained how it was too tight for him. 

“Your Majesty,” the White Wolf said. “I need to speak with you.” 

“ _Is this another one of your whores!?_ ” She gasped. “You dog!” 

“No, you two-bit fool. It’s… a Witcher.” His face and tone shows confusion, anger, and fear, although the Rivian could smell it off of him. “What’re you doing here? I wasn’t pleased when I heard from Erik that a Witcher wandered here,” His Majesty said. “You know we don’t like your… _Kind_ here.” 

“Could say the same for those Werewolves, but you do nothing to stop them.” The Witcher replied, sitting down on a chair. “I’ve heard many things today, and I just got here around three hours ago. The protests… The unwanted guests…” He listed off a few examples. “...And even a missing daughter of yours.” 

“Don’t you dare mention Beca here,” he roared threateningly.

“Barking dogs seldom bite.” He scoffed. 

“Get out of here, Carys.” He looked over at the queen and pointed towards the door. “We have things to discuss.” 

“About my _daughter?_ Hells, no. I’m staying here if this concerns Beca. I am more than tired of all these secrets.” She planted herself on the messy bed and gave him an eye that even startled Geralt. “Lewis, I’m tired of all of it.”

“King Lewis, I’m going to stop beating around the bush here. I was wondering if you needed any special help to both get rid of the werewolves and find your princess.” The Rivian said. 

“And of course, you won’t do it for free.” 

“Of course. You know my _kind_ so well _,_ after all.” He snorted. “Anyway, I shall find the princess. Although… There is a possibility that your daughter can be a werewolf herself, or even…”

“Dead,” Queen Carys finished his sentence, disturbed at the thought. 

“Hm,” He nodded. “Now there’s something else to discuss, of course. If there is a chance that your daughter might be among the werewolves, and even a part of them. What shall you want me to do if this happens?” 

“Kill her,” his majesty said immediately. “We needn’t any risk of her turning into a ravenous beast in the kingdom.” 

“Lewis, you fool!” She interrupted. “Is there anything that can undo this… Curse?” She asked. 

“Yes.” He answered. “I’ll need a gathering of certain herbs and good bait,” he said. “But the herbs themselves are very rare and one isn’t even from around here,” he sighed. 

“Fuck, just… At least _try._ ” She said.

“Hm. That’s what I will do,” he answered. “But then again, she might not even be amongst them. But I will at least try,” Geralt shrugged. “But if she is and there’s nothing I can do, it’s better to put her out of her misery. I’ll make sure that it will be quick,” he looked down and avoided her glare. 

“What will happen if she is and it happens successfully?” She asked. 

“Then she might be mentally behind if she’s had the curse for more than a month, and in some cases, have the mind of a child. She will have to be retaught on a lot of things,” answered the Rivian. 

“It’ll be worth it, then.” She said. 

“I think you two have… Much to talk about,” he said. “I’ll be leaving, and I’ll come back tomorrow. Hopefully next time, I don’t have to sneak in here.” He snorted. 

“And leave me with her?” King Lewis asked. 

“...And what, fight her too?” Geralt looked at Carys, who clenched her fists tightly and angrily. “She’d eat me alive.” He snorts and looks over at the minstrel who stood idly near the door. Come, Dandelion. We’re done here.” 

“Witcher, wait.” The King interrupted. 

“What is it this time?” He asked as he put his hand on the doorknob. 

“You know that you will not get my first daughter, correct? I’ll kill ‘er off myself before I give her to you. I don’t want my line to be half-demon grandchildren.” Lewis said. 

“I knew this already. Money is good enough,” he said. 

“Hm, good. Now _go._ ” He said, watching the Rivian and the bard open the door and leave, closing it behind them.


End file.
